Lorna Doone: Two Sides Of A Coin
by ToryTigress92
Summary: Just a oneshot unless I get reviews. Carver/Lorna, because I can... Based off the 2001 tv series. Lorna chooses between her love for John, and her love for the dark lord of the Doones, Carver.
1. The Truth

Lorna Doone: Two Sides Of A Coin

**This'll remain an oneshot unless I get some reviews. Basically I adored Aidan Gillen in Lorna Doone, and I really wanted Lorna to end up with him, crazy as it seems. But that's what fanfiction is for.**

**I personally don't think that what Lorna told John Ridd was entirely truthful, so I'm twisting it slightly.**

**Because I want something to happen between Carver and Lorna, as well.**

**Based off the 2001 TV film version.**

* * *

"Do you love him?" John asked Lorna impatiently, as his eyes boring into hers. Lorna's breath caught. For the terrible truth was that she could not say yay or nay to John's question.

Some part of her loved Carver Doone, as another loved John Ridd. She was caught between the two, between darkness and light; imprisonment and freedom, between obsession and devotion.

But was there any pertinent distinction?

Where did she belong?

Since leaving the valley of the Doones, she'd felt as a fish out of water, once the novelty of freedom wore off, and the attack happened. Despite the kindness of John's mother, she was not where she belonged.

She longed for home, strange as it seemed. No matter what she told John, she missed the rugged, impenetrable valley walls and green, wild waterfalls. Plover's Burrow was not her home, was not where her soul rested.

For so many years Lorna had dreamt of escaping Doone Valley, and yet here she was, yearning for it. For her people, rough and violent though they were.

Inhaling deeply, Lorna replied to John's question.

"If you don't know the answer to that question by now, then nothing I say will make any difference," she said passionately, before tearing away, tears blurring her vision.

It was all she could say; John could take it either way.

Lorna fled around the side of one of the farm buildings, her sobs breaking free. After the pain of Ensor's death, watching as Carver punished the people who sheltered her, and now John's allegation that she loved Carver Doone….

It was too much, because it was partially true.

Finding a solitary spot in which to think, Lorna collapsed against the side of the stone building, and allowed her tears free rein.

The cold wind snaked through her dress, as she stood there in the mud, shivering. Suddenly a hand, warm and rough, tucked her hair back behind her neck. Just before she recognised its touch with dread, it comforted her. Warmed her.

Made her feel loved.

Until that hand turned her head to come face to face with Carver Doone.

She gasped, pressing herself back into the stone wall, but his strong arm wound itself around her shoulder and pulled her against his muscular, rough leather-clad chest. His breeches and boots were soiled and muddy, his face caked with grime and sweat, his black hair lank. His dark eyes entrapped hers, so she was paralysed and couldn't even think about calling for John.

"Come with me," Carver murmured, his hot breath washing over her face. Lorna felt dizzy, as her breath hitched, and her eyes stared at lips that had once before forcibly caressed her own and dark eyes that pierced into her soul.

Lorna couldn't shake her head yes or no.

"Carver, please leave me be," Lorna begged him quietly. The young Doone lord shook his head.

"Never. If I can't have you then no one else will. I will never, ever give you up!" he snarled possessively. His grip tightened on her hair, and she gasped in pain. Something shifted in his eyes, as Carver leant his head in, and kissed her.

This time, Lorna did not fight, some part of her curious to see if Carver's kiss was anything different from John's kiss. A moment later, she had to concede that they were entirely different.

Unlike John's tender yet passionate caresses, the way Carver kissed her was similar to the way a starving man might react when he sees a feast. He kissed her like he might die the second their lips disconnected, and so it was hot and fierce and wild.

As a questing heat slid over Lorna's limp lips, she let him part them, and allowed herself to be claimed. For that was what it felt like, a claiming.

A second later, he left her mouth, as they both panted raggedly.

"You didn't fight me," Carver breathed against her bruised lips, as she looked into his eyes, full of confusion.

She hadn't fought him, on the contrary, for a moment she'd exulted in the wild caress.

"Come back with me, Lorna," Carver suddenly asked her wildly. "Your people need you, the Doones need you. I need you. Come home,"

Knowing there would be a 'but', Lorna arched one brow cynically. "And if I don't?"

"Then I will come back with forty men, and there won't be so much as a brick left standing of this farm when I've finished. I will make you watch as I kill John Ridd, and his family!" Carver spat out venomously, particularly on John's name. Lorna stared at him, seeing the threat, as she struggled against his hold. He let her go, as she slumped against the farm building, breathless.

Carver held out one hand commandingly. "Come with me, Lorna. You know where you belong, and it has never been here."

Lorna recognised the truth in his words, even as her mind rebelled against his command. She was not anyone's to order around.

"Why me, Carver? As you said, you could have a hundred women. Why me?" she asked, her voice a bare whisper on the wind, as the sounds of John rebuilding the farm not a hundred metres away echoed around them.

"What would I want with a hundred women?" Carver scoffed disdainfully. "When not one of them would possess your spirit, your wildness, your beauty? You torture me, and you master me. My desire, the only desire left in my fevered brain, is to make you happy. Come home with me,"

Lorna shuddered, and felt her soul cry out for home. For the valley of the Doones.

For years, the crimes Carver and the other Doone men committed had long stopped her from loving him, except in the darkest recesses of her heart, shackled by the chains of logic and morality.

But their shackles had rusted and turned to dust. John could never love her for who she truly was. She was a Doone, and possessed their hedonistic natures and fiery tempers. She could never be the wife of a country farmer. Too much of an inferno burnt in her breast for her to accept such a tranquil life, and it would destroy everything around her.

From the first moment she'd met John, she had known she loved him. He was exciting and new and so unlike anyone she had ever met, and he offered the freedom and the promise of stepping foot outside of her then depressingly dull home.

But Carver…

Carver was like the thunder clouds massing in the sky. He was the wild cry of the hawk as it flew overhead. He was passionate, tempestuous, impatient, possessive, malevolent and jealous, but just as now, had always made her feel safe and comforted.

He'd comforted her as a child when she'd awoken, trembling, from nightmares. He'd held her tightly when she'd had to have her arm set after she fell from a tree in the orchard. He had protected her for years, cared for her, and only sought her love in return.

Was that so wrong?

A memory came back, of a not dissimilar conversation only weeks ago atop the falls in Doone valley.

_ Lorna waited impatiently atop the waterfall of Doone valley, hoping that John would come today, but he did not. He was already half an hour late, as the sun moved overhead. Had he grown tired of associating with a Doone, a woman he could have no future with?_

_Suddenly, Lorna sensed someone's eyes upon her, and she spun in her seat._

_Carver._

_She gasped and stood abruptly, hoping he would take her gasp for mere surprise at seeing him. Averting her eyes, so he would not see the guilt in them, she made to walk back up the path._

"_Who are you waiting for?" Carver asked her impudently, as she brushed past him. Tears struck her eyes for a second, before she wiped them away._

"_No one," she muttered brusquely, as she continued on up the path. Carver followed her a moment later._

_They were walking back through one of the many clearings, occupied by only a few trees, when Carver suddenly darted in front of her, blocking her progress._

_Lorna fought not to let him see how affected she was by his presence, as he crowded her back slightly against a tree, as she reluctantly met his black gaze._

"_I wanted to talk to you," he began, as Lorna stared at him, her heart sinking. "You are very beautiful, Lorna…"_

_Lorna's heart cried out in despair. Was that all she was to be loved for? Her beauty and nothing else?_

"…_You know how much I admire you. How much I love you,"_

"_I am unworthy of your affection," Lorna protested weakly, as he pressed her back into the tree trunk behind her, her gaze trapped in his._

_Carver shook his head impatiently. "That is for me to decide. We were meant to be together, you know that," he said, his voice and manner gentle and yet firm. His breath washed over her face. _

"_Because Ensor wishes it?" Lorna asked derisively, sure this was only happening because Ensor wished them to be married. Carver couldn't love her for herself._

_Not like John might've done._

_But he couldn't. She was a Doone, a hated enemy of the people. Lorna brought herself back to reality, wonder struck in her heart as Carver's next words brought the distinct lie to her original hypothesis._

"_Because we do and always have," he murmured tenderly, his hands rising to gently cup her face, tilting it upwards to meet his. Lorna's breath hitched at the feel of his slightly callused hands on her smooth skin, abrading the soft flesh. His lips brushed hers._

_Remembrances of all his crimes, all the rumours of the murders he'd committed, the rapes, the pillages and the thievery came rushing back, as Lorna turned her head aside, pushing him away, even as her soul cried out in disappointment._

_She made to run, making it as far as the next tree before Carver's longer legs and athleticism allowed him to catch her wrist and spin her around to face him._

"_I could have a hundred women!" he snarled angrily, all gentleness gone. Angered by his vanity and arrogance, Lorna retorted before she thought it through._

"_Take them then!" she cried bitterly, glaring at him scornfully. What did she care if he took a hundred women? For the crimes he'd committed in the name of their family, she would never give her love to him. But one look at his angered face had her stiffening, reminding her to be cautious. Carver would be the Lord of the Doones soon, if Ensor's illness got any worse, and she wouldn't put it past him to force her._

"_I do not mean to offend you," she murmured apologetically, bowing her head, averting her eyes humbly. And truly she did not mean to offend him; how she wished they could just go back to the innocent interaction of her childhood days._

_Carver once again crowded her back against a tree trunk. "What does offence have to do with it?" he asked derisively, "What do I care about your sly ways of tormenting a man?"_

_Lorna stared at him, astounded, before anger once more flared up at his presumption. "You think I'm playing some kind of game with you?" she asked incredulously, before she threw caution to the winds with her bluff. "Then listen to me. I have never loved you, Carver, and I never could…"_

_It was but a half-truth. She had loved him, and did love him, but his very nature and the crimes he'd committed would never allow it to blossom. It would never be._

"…_If you do love me as you say, then leave me alone," Lorna finished through gritted teeth, as she turned around and made to walk off. But a strong hand grabbed her neck, hauling her back to him, so their faces were close, and their bodies crushed together. Lorna could barely breathe._

"_You will be my wife," Carver promised her, one hand twined painfully with her trailing waves of mahogany brown hair, a fell promise in his dark eyes. _

"_Ensor would never let you force me," Lorna retorted defiantly, sure of that. Her grandfather loved her too much to give in to Carver's cruelty. A cruelty he displayed when his eyes glittered maliciously at his next sentence._

"_Ensor will not live much longer…" he trailed off, his gaze falling to her lips. Abruptly, he pressed his to them, kissing her passionately, even whilst Lorna fought and struggled, outraged he would try to force her. _

_Allured by the passion she glimpsed beneath the surface._

_Finally he released her lips, an animalistic look of satisfaction in his dark, burning eyes. "We will be married, the day after his death, and you will love me," he told her dictatorially, as she struggled against his hold, against her destiny._

_She could never love him, for who he was, and yet that was exactly why she did love him._

_She wrested from his grip and ran off, leaving him standing behind her in the clearing…_

Lorna's mind returned to the present, as her eyes focussed once more on the gloved hand held towards her commandingly, like the hand of fate itself.

Was this to be her destiny? Was that why she could not let John kill him last night?

Because she instinctively sensed her future lay with him, however reluctantly?

"Lorna…" Carver said, impatience beginning to seethe in his tone, as she became aware of shouts and cries coming from the farmhouse.

Shouting her name.

"Lorna!"

"Lorna!"

"Lorna, come with me now!" Carver said, lunging forward for her hand. Lorna stepped sideways, leading him further around the farm building.

"If I go with you, will you give me your word you will not take any further action against John and his family?" she asked him desperately, her mind nearly made up. Carver nodded edgily.

"Swear it!" she demanded, still refusing to take his hand. Carver sighed through his teeth.

"I swear it," he muttered aggressively. Slowly, Lorna placed her hand in his, and allowed him to lead her away, as the searching cries of the other man she loved echoed behind her.

Carver led her into the forest and over a bluff until they reached his waiting horse. He helped her to mount, before swinging himself up beside her, wrapping one arm around her waist.

Steadying her, holding her.

Safe, warm, loved…

Her eyes strayed to the lights in the windows of the farmhouse, a few miles distant, as shouts filled the air. To the life she might've had.

"He could never know you like I can, my love…" Carver whispered in her ear, holding her tightly, possessively, triumph in his crowing voice, yet it was also seductive, alluring. Irresistible. "…He could never touch you like I can. He could never love you as I can,"

As much as Lorna wanted to think otherwise, there was truth in Carver's words. John would never be able to love her, because she was a Doone. There was too much bad blood there.

It would have destroyed them.

She belonged with her own people, her own destiny. It was time she stopped fighting it, and embraced it. And him.

The man behind her wheeled the horse around with a twitch of his reins, and set off at a canter, as they rode towards the entrance to the valley of the Doones.

Home.

Together, she and Carver would be as two sides of a coin. The lord and lady of the Doones.

It was her true fate, and it was time to stop fighting.

Lorna shivered at the cold wind, as she snuggled back into Carver's warm, supportive arms.

Carver's lips curved into a triumphant smile. At last, at long last, she was his and his alone.


	2. Homecoming

Lorna Doone: Two Sides Of A Coin

Lorna felt a shiver of apprehension as she and Carver rode into the Doone Valley. The familiar sight of the roughly hewn wooden houses and thatched roofs sent a ripple of dread down her spine.

Had she done the right thing, in returning with Carver?

Perhaps sensing Lorna's nervousness, Carver's arm tightened around her waist, as they halted outside the main house. Taking a deep breath, trying to breathe through the vice crushing her lungs, Lorna could feel the eyes of the assembling Doones on her face. Setting her jaw, she determined to ignore them, as Carver dismounted and reached up for her.

Fighting down her panic, Lorna focussed on the strong planes of his face, his dark eyes, allowed the familiar paralysis he could invoke to take over, as his arm twined around her waist.

The cold wind whipped through the valley, Lorna's mud-splattered skirts doing nothing to shield her from the chill ice that swept her skin, raising goosebumps over her flesh. Carver's strong arm pulled her from the saddle, cradling her against his chest until her feet touched the ground. His lips brushed her ear, sending a slight shiver down Lorna's spine.

"I won't let anyone harm you, Lorna. Don't be afraid," he breathed in her ear, her waist still entwined with his arm. Lorna pushed away her unease at his words, knowing that once she was Carver's wife, the same protection and respect she'd received when Ensor was alive would shield her from Carver's thugs. The main doors opened, and the Counsellor, Carver's father, strode out.

"I'm not afraid," Lorna murmured, almost defiantly to Carver's ears, as she stepped out of his encircling arm and glided forward. The Counsellor's cold eyes raked over her face, before he jogged down the steps in front of her.

"Welcome home, Lorna," he inclined his head. Lorna met his eyes but didn't reply, as she swept past him into the house. The Counsellor turned his head to watch after Lorna, before meeting the eyes of his son, as a boy scurried forward to take Carver's horse.

Carver met his father's eyes steadily before moving past him. "Begin preparations. We will marry tomorrow," he barked over his shoulder.

The Counsellor fell in behind his son, as a cacophony of excited whispers broke out behind them.

"What of the Ridds? The boy will not let Lorna go easily; he is a threat," he commented curiously. Carver's face hardened, as he entered the smoky hall of the Doones.

"Nothing. We will do nothing. Tomorrow Lorna will be mine, and that will be the end of it," Carver replied tersely, unbuckling his sword and pistol and lounging in the chair of the Lord of the Doones.

"Nothing? The last attack was ill-advised at best, but now Ridd will not let this be. He will come for her, just as he did before. You are not married yet, and I don't think Lorna is as loyal to you as you think," the Counsellor said gravely. Carver directed a searing glare at his father, before shrugging nonchalantly.

"We'll place more guards around the hall. If Ridd does try to come back, he'll be dead by sunrise," Carver muttered coldly.

"Lorna left us once. If he makes it through, she will do it again," the Counsellor warned him. Carver shook his head dismissively.

"Not this time. I'll make sure of that," he muttered again, sending his father a disparaging glance, before rising from his seat. "How many wounded from last night's attack?" he asked, already striding out of the hall, his father by his side.

"Five men at least. You should've taken twenty men, if you wished to take her by force, but it seems you did not need to after all," the Counsellor commented, a shrewd gleam entering his eye. Carver did not acknowledge it.

Outside, in-between two cottages, was the area where the injured and dying men lay on stretchers in the open air, whilst the women tended to them. As Carver crossed to one of his men, taking his hand as the man cried out in pain whilst a woman cauterised a gunshot wound on his thigh, the Counsellor kept by his side.

"Why didn't you just take twenty men back, and annihilate the farm?" he asked, as Carver focussed on the injured man clinging to his hand. "It's not like you to show clemency when you see yourself wronged."

"Because….I promised Lorna I would not harm them, if she came with me," Carver replied finally, his speech stilted and awkward.

"Sentimental fool!" the Counsellor snorted derisively, shaking his old grey head. With a growl of impatience, Carver released his dying soldier's hand and pulled his dagger from its sheath. In one graceful movement, Carver held it up to his father's throat.

"Be very careful old man. Remember to whom you speak!" he snarled through gritted teeth. A moment later, he released the Counsellor and stalked away.

Carver's father chuckled to himself, as he watched his son walk away into the mist.

"You're cleverer than I expected, boy," he muttered, before turning away himself to oversee the preparations for the wedding.


	3. John Comes For Lorna

Lorna Doone: Two Sides Of A Coin

Lorna stood in her old chambers, so unchanged from when she'd left it just two days ago. The same rough white walls and floors strewn with rushes, and elaborately carved wooden furniture.

She inhaled, the familiar smell of woodsmoke and cooking meat from the kitchen filling her nostrils.

Home.

All that was missing was her faithful handmaiden Gwenny, coming with a tray of soup and bread.

But Gwenny was back at Plover's Barrow. If she had any sense she would stay there.

Closing her eyes, she saw once more the warm sandstone walls of the farmhouse, and the golden thatch, and the rows of growing vegetables. She felt a rush of regret, before she recalled that that was never to be her destiny.

This was her destiny.

Pacing to her looking glass, Lorna extracted from a pocket in her skirts an intricate necklace, the one Ensor had given to her before he'd died.

Her mother's necklace.

The necklace comprised of two strings of matched pearls, one of which hugged her upper throat, whilst the other hung below her collarbone. The pearls were interrupted by what Lorna guessed to be sapphires and diamonds, and a small cross at the very lowest point of the string of pearls.

She fingered it wondrously, letting the pearls and the stones play over her fingers, until she sensed the presence of someone else in the room, watching her. She spun, and found Carver standing propped against the doorframe, his dark eyes on the necklace in her hands.

"That is a beautiful necklace, Lorna," he said, before he pushed away from the door and approached. "Here, let me."

Gently he took the necklace from her hands, and pushed her around so she faced the mirror. As he raked back her hair, his fingers brushed the bare skin of her neck, making Lorna shiver slightly, her breath hitching. Carver's slight smile deepened, as he fastened the catch of the necklace and raised his eyes to her image, resting his hands on her shoulders.

The stones on the necklace glimmered in the late afternoon sunlight streaming in through the window, resting heavily on the skin of her throat. They looked stunning.

Carver's fingers accidentally brushed the skin of her collarbone, and she fought to hide her shiver as his eyes locked with hers. A satisfied smirk widened his thin lips, as he deliberately moved his fingers again, and this time Lorna couldn't stop her lids from falling ever so slightly. Smiling widely, Carver bent his head to her ear, brushing aside her hair.

"You look like a queen, my love," he whispered, before he bent his head further and gently brushed his lips over the skin below her ear. Lorna gasped, her lids fluttering shut before she escaped from under his lips and hands.

"Does it please you, my lord, to gloat now you've won?" she enquired bitterly, turning her back to him. She crossed her arms, holding back tears, of what she knew not.

Hands like steel manacles gripped her upper arms and spun her around, backing her up against the wall.

"Why Lorna? Why are you so resistant to me?" Carver growled angrily, his dark eyes boring into hers. "Why, when all I have ever done is love you?"

"Love!? I'm nothing more than a possession to you, my lord!" Lorna scoffed sneeringly, cursing her wild heartbeat for betraying her when he was so close. Carver shook his head exasperatedly, his hands clenching on either side of her body.

"Lorna, you could never be a mere possession. You are the only woman capable of ruling me," he replied impatiently, moving closer as Lorna's eyes flared wide. "I love you. And whilst you belong to me, so do I belong to you, and you alone. I would die for you, Lorna."

His warm breath washed over Lorna's lips, as she let the last of her defensive tension dissolve. She stretched upwards on her toes, unsure how to bring him to her, but Carver needed no encouragement. He brushed her lips with his own, making them throb before he pulled her forward into his arms.

Lorna kissed him as deeply as he was kissing her, no longer an innocent in that sphere. His arms tightened around her waist, so she could barely breathe against his chest, but she exalted in the furious possessiveness in the gesture, returning it tenfold. She slid her hands into Carver's hair, pulling him down to her, as the angle deepened, and their kiss grew wilder. He shoved her back against the wall, pressing her into it with his body.

Desire pulsed between them, meshing them together, so neither wanted to ever be apart. Fiery hot need washed over them, heady compulsion and intoxication rendering any ability to think coherently useless.

Carver's hand slid up her waist, following the contours of her body, screened though they were by stiff cambric. Lorna's breath strangled, she broke from his lips, her head spinning.

They leant heavily on each other, fighting to recover from that hot desire, as Lorna let Carver rest his forehead on hers, their lips mere inches apart, their breath mingling.

Carver's strong arms and body was tenser than rock, holding her against the wall, and every time she moved, he shuddered and his grip tightened on her body. Tentatively, almost shyly Lorna met his eyes.

They were stormy, as sharp as a hawk's that rides the crest of a wave. Desire and rampant passion flickered in them, seductive and alluring; a siren call to her senses.

"Be careful, Lorna. Don't move," he growled out through gritted teeth, closing his eyes to the sight of her flushed skin and temptingly full lips, bruised and swollen.

As if understanding his warning, she froze, before her lithe frame relaxed in his grip and she did something he'd never have expected.

She took his hand, clenched in a fist, uncurled the fingers and placed it on her breast, holding it there with her hand. Carver's eyes snapped open, and Lorna wanted to laugh at the shock and sheer surprise in the stormy orbs. She knew hers were full of acceptance and desire, as she moved closer of her own volition and pulled his lips to hers.

Carver's lips attained a new urgency, as if he believed this all to be a dream from which he would awaken any second, and he wanted to devour as much of her as possible. His hand moulded around her breast, as he angled his head over hers, pressing on her a kiss of pure passion. With a sigh into his mouth, Lorna arched and twined her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer to him. She was locked against him chest to knee, her body softening to his, every cell aching for him.

"Carver!"

They paused in their kiss, both breathing raggedly, as they disengaged their lips. Slowly, Carver straightened, forcing his muscles to unlock from around her, as he stepped back.

"We'll be married tomorrow. I've waited this long…I can wait a few more hours," he murmured, raising one hand to her cheek, caressing the smooth skin with his thumb, relishing the feel of her satin hair playing over the back of his hand. Lorna pressed her face into his hand, before letting him go.

As Carver left her room, he mentally growled under his breath.

Whatever had just called him away from Lorna had better be good, or he'd be shooting brains out just to relieve the ache running through his body.

* * *

Lorna collapsed back on her bed, her lips throbbing, her skin rippling with delicious shivers. Who knew something so illicit could feel so…right? So good?

Still panting, she loosened the laces of her stomacher, needing to breathe.

The sound of heavy breathing outside her door had Lorna sitting up abruptly, as the door opened.

"My lady?" a little blonde girl bobbed into a curtsey, her eyes averted. Lorna brushed her hair out of her eyes, spotting a hovering presence outside the doorframe. The wooden handle of a pistol shone in the dim light of the hall. "Sir Carver sent me to see to your needs, mistress,"

Feeling annoyance well up, at the prospect of being guarded like a caged animal, Lorna forced a smile.

"Your name?" she asked kindly, seeing the girl tremble slightly.

"Becky, mistress," she replied promptly, her eyes still averted. Standing, Lorna approached the girl and took her hands gently.

"Then, Becky, you must call me Lorna, and not mistress. Don't fear me," she insisted, squeezing her hands. Becky raised confused, but pleased green eyes to Lorna's, as she smiled slightly, and curtseyed again.

"Your beauty is only matched by your kindness…Lorna," Becky said softly. Lorna smiled, her eyes flicking back to the man standing just outside her door. Becky followed her gaze, before looking back at her sympathetically.

"You'd think I was some dangerous criminal, the way they're all watching me," Lorna sighed, releasing Becky's hands and sitting down on her bed. Becky shrugged.

"I heard them talking. They're afraid of some farmer trying to kidnap you again," she told her eagerly. Lorna closed her eyes.

John.

Lorna sighed, and stood from the bed. Going to her armoire, she pulled a long cloak from it.

"Will you take me to where Sir Ensor's ashes are spread?" she asked, swinging the cape over her shoulders. Becky looked uncertainly at her mistress. "Please, Becky?"

The little maid hesitated and then nodded.

* * *

Outside, Lorna saw more evidence of the increased guard as she and Becky walked quickly through the central common.

The Doone village was set out on several tiers, following the lay of the land around the buildings. At either end of the village, by the head of the valley and the bottom, stood sentry towers, with walls of spiked wooden stakes. Closest to the meeting hall was the houses of the few craftsmen who lived in the Doone clan. Livestock and women milled around, some spinning and weaving whilst others served the men who sat at benches eating.

Ensor's grave was situated on a plateau just across from the meeting hall, beside the path which led to the woods and the waterfall at the very edges of the Doone lands. Around them, men stood with pistols and rapiers at the ready, whilst women scurried around laying out trestle tables and preparing the livestock to be slaughtered and dough to be baked for the wedding feast tomorrow. All inclined their heads respectfully as Lorna passed, but none spoke to her. She found herself missing the friendly warmth of Plover's Barrow with a fierce ache.

Becky's hand on her shoulder as she stepped onto the flat patch of ground that marked Ensor's grave helped to dispel that loneliness, as Lorna flashed her a comforting smile.

The little maid stood a few metres away, giving Lorna some space, as the young girl sank to her knees, her cloak shielding her from the wet ground.

She bowed her head. "Well, Grandfather, you'll get your way after all. I'm going to marry Carver tomorrow, just as you wanted," she whispered. "I should've known I could not escape my destiny. You knew, didn't you Grandfather? I just wouldn't listen,"

Lorna paused, the wind whistling through the valley as the sounds of the wedding preparations around her continued. "It scares me, Grandfather, this future you've planned for me. But it is my choice to take it, I see that. It does scare me; I love Carver, but he frightens me. I wish you were here, Grandfather," Lorna finished, tears threatening to fall. Privately she mourned, for the first time since leaving the Doone valley.

* * *

"Lorna!" Becky's hand shaking her shoulder interrupted Lorna's private mourning, as she raised her head, dashing away tears.

"What is it?" she asked, before she looked over her maid's shoulder to see a stir by the back sentry's tower. With a flash of fear, she saw Carver sprint over to the crowd of men as she rose and hurried towards them.

What she saw sent slivers of fear through her heart.

John, surrounded by Doone men, bound and blindfolded as Carver stopped in front of him. The cold, cruel implacability she saw in his eyes was terrifying.

"I told you, John Ridd, if you ever came back here I would blow your brains out!" he snarled, stepping close to him as John was forced to his knees.

"I know you took Lorna. I won't let you force her to stay," John growled out, his voice strained. With some horror, as Lorna forced her way through the crowd of gathering men and women, she saw blood peppering his doublet as he coughed.

"Who says I'm forcing her to do anything? You should know by now that Lorna is not the most tractable of women," Carver replied shortly, leaning in close so his quiet words were for John alone.

"Where is she?" John asked forcefully, lunging forward in the direction of Carver's voice, but not getting far. Carver laughed cruelly.

"Somewhere you're not going to see her again," he replied menacingly, as he raised a pistol to his head, and pulled the hammer back with his thumb.

"NO!" Lorna cried out, pushing her way to Carver's side and grabbing his arm. "Carver, please!"

"Stay out of this, Lorna," Carver snarled, pushing her away from him. Lorna felt her arms taken by some of his men, but fought them off with angry strength.

"No! You promised me, Carver! You said you would not harm the Ridds if I came with you willingly," she reminded him, pressing as close to him as possible.

"Lorna?" John asked wildly, blindly turning his head in her direction. She didn't look at him, couldn't look at him but focussed on Carver.

"I said nothing about sparing his life if he came here again! I will not let him take you from me!" Carver snarled threateningly, his pistol arm tensing, readying for the shot but Lorna grabbed his face, turning it to hers.

"He will not," Lorna replied with in a bare whisper, so low only Carver could hear her above the wind. "I have chosen you, Carver. Nothing will separate us now. Please…"

Carver hesitated, his arm lowering slightly as Lorna's soft form impinged on his senses. His finger loosened from the trigger, as Lorna's warm breath washed over his face as he turned his head, his eyes boring into hers searchingly.

Her brown eyes were full of entreaty and desperation, begging him to be merciful.

Exhaling heavily, Carver lowered his pistol, as Lorna breathed freely.

"Thank you," she murmured.

Nodding brusquely, Carver gestured to his men.

"Take him away. We'll keep him here until nightfall, then set him loose on the moors," he said, as John was hauled up and dragged away.

"Lorna!" he cried out desperately, as he was dragged roughly through the mud. Lorna felt his cries pierce her heart, as she clung to Carver's arm.


	4. Lorna Chooses Carver

Lorna Doone: Two Sides Of A Coin

It was deep night in the Doone valley, as Lorna crept out of the meeting hall and across the common to the sentry's house where John was held. Her dark cloak allowed her to blend into the shadows, as she ran from house to house until she reached the door. She slipped inside.

"Yer not supposed to be here, mistress Lorna!" one of Carver's men stood from his seat by the fire. Inside the house comprised of two bare rooms, the main living area where Lorna and the guard stood, with a hearth and not much else, whilst John was held in the sleeping area.

Lorna flicked her hood down, and imperiously held the guard's gaze.

"I demand to see the prisoner," she said clearly, one hand holding onto the hilt of a knife hidden in the folds of her cloak.

"Tha' not possible, my lady," the guard, rough and unwashed, replied. Lorna moved closer, despite the smell emanating from him.

"Maybe you did not hear me correctly. I demand to see the prisoner!" she said through gritted teeth.

"Maybe yer not listenin' to me; no one is to see 'im!" the guard replied, sneeringly. After a minute, a lecherous expression stole over his unshaved face as he took a step closer to Lorna, his eyes on her face. He raised one fat hand towards her face. "Unless, yer were to make it worth me while…"  
Lorna recoiled, disgust flaring in her eyes, as she unsheathed her dagger in a flash.

"I would be very careful if I were you," she muttered threateningly, as she dug the blade into the skin of his throat a little pointedly. "Tomorrow I will be Lady Doone, and you would do well to remember that. Now open this door, if you want to live,"

"You wouldn'…" the guard whispered sneeringly, but uncertainty shone in his eyes. Inhaling calmingly, Lorna arched one eyebrow.

"Wouldn't I?" she murmured, before digging the blade of the dagger into the flesh of his neck. It broke the skin, so a rivulet of blood dribbled down his neck and onto his doublet. He winced.

Without another word, the guard backed up to the door and opened it. Lowering her dagger, Lorna swept through the door imperiously, and it slammed shut behind her.

Inside the room was in pitch darkness, as Lorna stepped forward into the blackness. She could dimly make out John's form, bound, blindfolded and gagged in the centre of the room. Sliding her knife back into its sheath, she glided forward and knelt in front of him.

"John?" she whispered tremblingly, untying the gag. Weakly, John's head rose.

"Lorna?" he coughed. Lorna placed a hand on his cheek, letting him know she was there.

"I'm so sorry, John," she murmured. "Why did you come back?"

"I couldn't let Carver kidnap you…." John began to say heatedly.

"John, I went with Carver willingly," Lorna interrupted him, silencing him.  
"What?" he whispered, pain and incredulity rampant in his tone. "Why?"

"John, you were right about me. I…I love Carver. I don't belong in your world, as much I wished to. I'm so sorry for all I've put you and your family through," Lorna breathed out in a rush, as a weight lifted from her heart, only to be replaced by another. Her hands trembling, Lorna pulled his ring from her skirt pocket and pressed it into his bound hands. "This belongs to you, John. I'm so sorry."

"Lorna, don't do this. You don't mean this, you can't!" John almost shouted, before Lorna put her hand over his mouth.

"John, listen to me! In a few minutes, Carver and his men will come and release you, somewhere on the moors. You mustn't come back or he will kill you," Lorna said desperately. "Go home, and forget about me. Forget about all of this."

He shook his head, his golden hair flying. "I'll never forget you. I love you, Lorna,"

Those words sent shards of pain into her heart, as fresh tears fell on her cheek.

"Do you love me, Lorna?" John asked awkwardly. Lorna began to shake, in indecision and agony.

"Yes, I do love you, John," she finally murmured.

"Then come with me. We'll leave Exmoor, go anywhere," he said eagerly, but Lorna shook her head, forgetting he couldn't see her. Hearing a knock on the door, she jumped.

"I'm sorry, John. Goodbye," she murmured, pressing her lips to John's one last time. Shaking, she broke from him enough to whisper against his lips. "I've chosen my path. Goodbye,"

"Lorna, n-" John's alarmed protest was cut off when Lorna retied the gag and stood, wiping away tears. She pressed a kiss to his tied hands before standing and slipping out the door. She walked away without looking back.

* * *

Once back in her bedchamber, she watched from a window as Carver and his men manhandled John out of the sentry house, and into the darkness. Behind her Becky fussed and hummed, laying out her wedding trousseau over the chair.

"Lorna, shall you go to bed now?" Becky asked, as she finished shaking out the skirt of the wedding dress, and stepped up beside her mistress. Lorna nodded, her gaze still locked outside the window.

"Go to bed, Becky. I shall be alright to fend for myself tonight," Lorna told her gently, even as Becky shook her head.

"I'll stay, mistress…Lorna. I have to help you undress for bed," she protested. Lorna shook her head, tearing her gaze from the scene outside the window just long enough to look at her maid.

"Becky, I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself. You should get to bed," she said kindly but firmly.

"If you're sure, Lorna," Becky curtseyed and went to leave the room. After a moment, she turned back. "You loved him. The farmer that was here, you loved him, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did," Lorna sighed, meeting the eyes of her maid in the glass of the window. Becky sent her a comforting smile before bobbing respectfully and leaving the room. Returning her gaze to the night, Lorna felt a single tear escape.

"Goodbye, my love," she murmured, before she left the window.

* * *

An hour later, Lorna sat on her bed in her nightgown, staring at a candle on a bedside table, her mind lost in its flickering tongue of flame. Sensing the gaze of someone on her, she turned her head.

Carver stood in the doorframe, pistol- and sword-less, watching her with his dark eyes.

Lorna returned her gaze to the candle flame, unwilling to let him see the conflict and the pain in hers.

Carver sighed and pushed away from the doorframe to sit on the opposite side of the bed to her.

"You know its bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding?" Lorna asked quietly, not looking away from the object of her meditation.

"Lorna…" Carver began softly, but she cut him off, still not looking at him.

"Is it done? Is he safe?" she asked coolly. The man who sat opposite her sighed exasperatedly, reining his temper at the mention of John Ridd.

"He's gone," he replied. He tried to make her look at him, tried to catch her eye, but she merely looked down and away.

She was even more beautiful in candlelight, the gentle fiery illumination coloured her ivory skin, bringing out golden highlights in her hair and eyes. The sleeve of her gown loosely exposed the rise of one shoulder, as shadows danced across its flawless surface. Carver reached out with one hand, and turned her face to his.

"After tomorrow, Lorna, there will be no escape. You're mine," he whispered, almost gently, yet Lorna felt the jaws of a merciless, irresistible trap snap shut. "Till death do us part. There'll be no running off with your farmer…"

Lorna wrenched her face free and turned away.

"That's why you begged me to spare him, wasn't it?" Carver spat bitterly. "Because you hope to escape me and go running back to him! You still love him!"

At this Lorna stood from the bed and walked to the window. There, her fists clenched as she spun around to face him, pain and raw emotion shining naked in her eyes.

"Of course I still love him!" she exploded angrily, her chest rising and falling raggedly. "But I chose you, in the end. I love you, Carver,"

"But not as much as him!" he said viciously, standing also, his own fists clenched. Lorna sighed, before she approached him and placed her hand on his cheek.

"Carver, can you really think that? I may have run from you in the beginning, have rejected you for so long, but I saved your life at the farm. I came back here with you, and I am still here. Why must you be so jealous?" she asked desperately, meeting his stormy eyes unblinkingly. A second later, she rested her forehead on his chest, pressing close as a draught made her shiver beneath her thin shift. "I love you."

After a moment, Carver exhaled slowly, as his arms came around her and he buried his face in the hair hanging over her neck.

"Forgive me," he murmured into her skin, inhaling her sweet scent, letting it sink into his senses. She shuddered at the feel of his warm breath brushing her skin, as his lips pressed momentarily against where her pulse beat hotly beneath the thin layer of flesh. That one moment of contact left the both of them yearning, as he raised his head and looked into her eyes.

"I forgive you," she whispered tremblingly, shaking slightly in his arms but not from cold. Stretching up on her toes, she kissed him gently, a caress he returned, his locked, tense muscles the only sign of the relentlessly driving passion that otherwise ruled him.

"Get some rest," he said when they broke apart, with a rakish grin on his lips. "You're going to need it tomorrow night."

Curiosity and shyness warred in Lorna's glowing eyes, so much so Carver had to fight not to kiss her again. He brushed one final caress over her lips, before he turned and left her.


	5. Wedding Day

Lorna Doone: Two Sides Of A Coin

The sound of a cockerel awoke Lorna from her sleep, as she opened her eyes to find Becky slipping into her room.

"Good morning, mistress. The sun's shining outside, and the birds are singing," she said cheerily, as she crossed to the drapes covering the window and pulled them back. Lorna sat up, brushing her loose curls from her eyes, stretching her arms. A moment later, she froze.

It was her wedding day.

Cold fear washed through her, a knot of nervous tension congealing in the pit of her stomach.

Becky set out a pitcher of water in its chipped porcelain basin, leaving a cloth on the side. Swinging her legs out of bed, Lorna pulled her shift over her head and washed herself, running the wet cloth over her skin, barely registering the fact that the water was warm as it trickled down her body. She flicked her hair over her shoulder and eventually threw down the cloth, as Becky handed her a clean shift and petticoats, which Lorna tugged over her head in a kind of daze, her eyes fixed vaguely on the opposite wall.

Outside, the valley was abuzz with activity and chatter as men and women prepared for the ceremony, sunlight washing through the grey clouds, bringing light and warmth to the shadowy green valley. The birds were indeed singing their early morning songs to the cool air, as cows lowed in the distance, and the geese squawked incessantly at the disruption to their vigils.

Lorna was unaware of any of this, her mind drifting in some grey space between reality and dreams, her thoughts showered with panic and fear.

She was marrying Carver today, in just a few short hours.

Trembling slightly as the realisation sank in, Lorna sat back down on her now made bed, as Becky left the room. Her fingers plucked absentmindedly at the sleeve of her shift, the gauzy lace soft against her hands.

After today, her life would never be the same. Her life would not be hers alone; it would be Carver's also, as his would be hers. It was the destiny she had chosen knowingly, but it both frightened and allured her. It was not the prospect of the vows she would speak before all their family, but rather of the physical commitment she would make in the night. Carver's passion held the potential to devour her wholly, and leave nothing of her soul or her heart intact. He evoked a fire in her, a rush of heat that stripped her mind of conscious thought. A fire that could destroy her.

Their love was like a lone spark; it could either burst into an eternal conflagration, or it could sputter and die, dying like a rose blighted by rot.

"Mistress?" Becky's inquiring voice punctured Lorna's thoughts, as she slipped back into the room bearing a tray with some fresh baked bread, a cup of milk and ripe green apples from the orchard. "You must eat; you'll need your strength. Or so Cook tells me," she said smilingly, placing it down on a side table. Lorna blankly stared at the food, her hands trembling. Frowning, Becky sat down beside her mistress. "Mistress, what is it?"

Lorna looked down at her shaking hands, clasping them together as if in prayer to still their shaking. "I am afraid, Becky. I can feel my old life slipping away from me, and in its place…the future is veiled, and it frightens me," she murmured. Becky hushed her soothingly, as she boldly placed a comforting arm around Lorna's shoulders.

"Now, now mistress, it can't be all bad. The master loves you, he'll keep you safe. And you have me, if I may be so bold, mistress," the practical girl said. Lorna smiled and clasped her hand gratefully.

"I am thankful for it. You are right, of course, Becky. I just have a terrible feeling of foreboding," Lorna replied, sighing once.

"Now you're being silly. Now eat up, and I'll arrange your hair whilst you eat," Becky said firmly, standing and reaching for a brush on her table. Obediently, Lorna set to her breakfast, not truly tasting it as Becky combed out the tangles in her hair, untwining the braids and brushing the long locks until they shone and shimmered like velvet. Next she re-plaited two sections of hair either side of Lorna's face, and tied the two braids back, leaving the rest free to cascade over her shoulders in a waterfall of rippling curls. As a finishing touch, Becky then weaved into the braids several delicate little white flowers only found within the Doone valley. Lorna set aside her plate just as Becky clapped her hands and pronounced herself done.

Numbly, Lorna stood and raised her arms over her head as a child would do, as Becky pulled the skirt of her dress over her head, careful not to disturb the blooms she'd worked into Lorna's hair. Next she poked her arms through the sleeves of the stomacher, and stood straight as Becky laced it up tightly.

"You look like an angel, mistress!" the little maid exclaimed happily, as she turned Lorna to see her reflection in the looking glass. Lorna barely recognised herself.

Her wedding dress was a pale blue colour, so pale it bordered on white, embroidered with silver thread in the pattern of flowers. The sleeves were puffed in a way Lorna wasn't used to, ending in a froth of lace at her wrists. The long bodice and skirts clung to her slender figure, lightly sweeping the floor.

"Just one more thing," Lorna murmured, as soon as she shook herself from her preoccupation. Going to her bedside table, she picked up her mother's necklace and clasped it around her neck. The sapphires, pearls and diamonds stood out against her pale skin and even paler gown, rounding off her wedding trousseau nicely.

"You look a right treat and no mistake, mistress! The master will be knocked off his feet when he sees you!" Becky said enthusiastically, clapping her hands together with glee.

"You should go and ready yourself, Becky," Lorna said, hiding a small smile at the young girl's eagerness. Nodding enthusiastically, Becky rushed out the door.

Shaking her head, Lorna returned to her perch by the window, picking up a small bouquet of wildflowers Becky had left on the side, watching as the preparations continued outside as men hung streamers and flags bearing the Doone coat of arms on the wooden platform and the stakes surrounding it.

* * *

Outside, Lorna heard drums start up, in a regular rhythm she remembered from the night she'd escaped with John. Footsteps sounded outside her bedroom door, as on the common and around the wooden platform, the Doones gathered to witness the union of two of their clan.

A perfunctory knock sounded just as her door opened to reveal the Counsellor, with a guard of honour waiting in their best attire.

"It is time, Lorna," the older man stepped forward, holding out a hand commandingly. Gracefully, she rose, her chin tilted haughtily. She stared down Marwood DeWichehalse imperiously, almost disdainfully as she placed her hand in the Counsellor's.

"Is this really necessary? Or were you afraid I would vanish from under your very eyes?" Lorna inquired sarcastically of her uncle as he placed her hand on his arm and turned her to lead her down the stairs.

"Now, now Lorna. We were merely concerned for your safety, my dear," the Counsellor replied unctuously, making Lorna's skin crawl. He and his son were so unalike it wasn't true. If she hadn't grown up with the two men, she would not have thought of them as father and son. "You look breathtaking, my dear."

Unable to stand it any longer, as they descended the staircase and entered the main meeting hall, Lorna tugged on his arm and made him face her.

"Let us understand one thing, _Uncle_. I am not and never have been your 'dear'!" she snarled, letting all her dislike and bitterness show before wrenching her hand from his grip and gliding towards the main doors. The Counsellor watched her for a moment, before exchanging a derisive glance with Marwood.

"Carver will have his hands full with her, make no mistake," he sighed resignedly, before he caught Lorna by the doors. Stiffly, she allowed him to take her hand and set it on his arm again, as the main doors opened and sunlight poured into the smoky hall.

* * *

Blinded, Lorna squinted as Counsellor gently led her forward into the warm morning. It was humid and still, no wind to lighten the heavy atmosphere. Her eyes adjusting to the light, she made out two rows of Carver's men, standing with their rapiers uncovered and held over their heads, in a guard of honour. She and the Counsellor made their way between the rows of men, Lorna clutching her bouquet as if it were her only tie to life. Eventually they emerged from the sea of darkly clothed men, to find the women of the Doone clan clustered around the steps of the wooden platform, all dressed in light, airy clothes. She spotted Becky in the front, with flowers in her hair matching the spring green of her dress. Raising her eyes, she looked up and caught her breath.

Her future husband awaited her on the platform, standing just in front of a robed priest, pride and triumph in his dark eyes as he watched them ascend the platform. The drumming ceased, and only birdsong remained as Lorna glided to Carver's side, and Counsellor relinquished her hand to him. It was warm and solid, something for Lorna to cling to as she took her place by his side.

"We are gathered here today…." The priest's words fell on deaf ears, as Lorna raised her eyes to Carver's, and felt herself paralysed by their dark depths. She felt neither the warm sunlight on her face, nor heard the birdsong in the trees.

His dark presence by her side was all that mattered. A slight squeeze of her hand brought Lorna back to reality, as she realised the priest was about to say the vows.

"Do you, Sir Carver Doone, take Lorna to be your lawful wedded wife?" the old man asked tremulously. "For better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?"

"I do," Carver replied confidently, a hint of triumph in his tone, as he took a ring from his father, bearing the Doone crest and raised Lorna's hand. Maintaining eye contact, he slid it onto her finger as he continued to speak only to her. "With this ring, I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, with my soul I thee adore, till death do us part,"

Lorna shivered, despite the clinging heat of the morning, unable to break away from Carver's gaze. She was dimly aware of someone sliding a ring into her free hand, as she began to slip it onto his finger.

"Do you, Lorna Doone, take Sir Carver to be your lawful wedded husband?" the priest asked.

The moment of truth had come, and Lorna's words stuck in her throat, as she raised her eyes to Carver's. Unable to break free, she could only speak quietly.

"I do. With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship…and with my soul I thee adore," she murmured that last so only Carver could hear her, as she slid the ring onto his finger. Their hands joined together, as Lorna felt a sense of peace steal over her, hushing the shreds of panic in her breast.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife. That which God has joined together let no man put asunder," the priest intoned, closing his prayer book, as Carver drew Lorna close and bent his head to hers. Their lips met, as Carver's hand slid around her waist, pulling her closer to him. "You may kiss the bride," the priest said wryly as he stepped away, and a whole host of ribald and suggestive remarks rained down on the newlywed couple from the men, whilst the women merely laughed and clapped happily.

Slowly, as Lorna left her new husband's lips, she became aware of the comments, as she blushed.

"Until death do us part," she murmured against his lips, uncaring about the numerous remarks flying their way. Carver's eyes glowed with fire and satisfaction as he bent his head once more.

"Until death do us part," he agreed, before kissing her again fervently, his hand sliding into her soft waves of hair. At last, they were together, forever bound.

Eventually, they broke the kiss and turned to face their family, to hear congratulations and suggestions, mostly to Carver, to squeeze hands and have their shoulders clapped. Lorna willingly smiled, praying no one could see through her façade and the lust that lay behind it. She met her husband's eyes and saw the reciprocal desire in his dark gaze. He smiled understandingly, his arm tightening around her waist, but they had a role to play first.

Taking a deep breath, they led the way to the trestle tables, where a wedding feast was laid out, ready and waiting.

The couple took their seats at the head of the table, only pausing for Carver to fill two silver goblets with mead and offer one to Lorna. Together, they twined their arms and drank from the other's cup, laughing when they so nearly spilt it. A drop of mead clung to the corner of Lorna's lips, as she smiled joyously up at her new husband.

A sense of things finally coming right in her confusing world left her carefree and happy, despite the darkness of the past few days.

Carver's eyes darkened as he regarded the stray drop of mead. Setting his cup down, he bent his head and kissed the corner of her lips, kissing away that errant droplet. Lorna's breath hitched, as she glared at him, whilst whistles and catcalls erupted around them. Neither could hide the desire beginning to take hold of them, one they fought as they sat down, as others followed suit.

* * *

The merriment last long into the afternoon and evening, as Lorna danced and laughed and talked gaily, achingly aware of a growing frustration behind her and Carver's joyous smiles.

Just as the sun began to set, Lorna took her place on the wooden platform and tossed her bouquet into the crowd. She didn't see who caught it, for a moment later Carver's hands slid over her shoulders, holding her tightly.

"Now's our chance to slip away. This lot will be drinking into the night," he whispered into her ear. Lorna shivered, and nodded once. Their eyes met fleetingly, both beginning to reflect the passion lying simmering in their veins.

No-one except Counsellor noticed their departure from the festivities as the mead flowed freely, and the dancing continued. Counsellor only smirked, as he raised his goblet of mead and silently toasted the couple, whilst his son disappeared into the meeting hall with his wife.

At last, after so many years, the Doones were on track to returning to their ancestral lands once more.


	6. The Calm Before The Storm

Lorna Doone: Two Sides Of A Coin

The moment the main doors closed behind them, Carver swept Lorna off her feet and into his arms. Her surprised laugh was smothered by his lips as he kissed her forcefully. Lorna allowed her hands to slide into his short black hair, twining with the braided tail brushing the collar of his black doublet.

A moment later, breathless, Lorna broke from his lips, resting her head on his chest. With a pleased smirk, every muscle in his body tensed, Carver carried her up the stairs. Lorna raised her head when he carried her past her room, and with a rush of heat, realised he was carrying her towards his chambers.

"Shouldn't you put me down in my room? I need to collect some things," Lorna managed to choke out breathlessly, her eyes on her husband's passion-set face. He shook his head brusquely.

"Becky moved your things to my…to our rooms. You belong with me now," he said, his voice hoarse and gravelly. At his words, Lorna felt a subtle tension take hold of her limbs.

Smirking slightly, Carver carried her over the threshold into their bedchamber.

The room had changed little since Ensor had died and left it for the last time, since Lorna had run away. The same dark furniture and high windows, through which the last few rays of sunlight streamed before they sank beneath the horizon. Candles adorned several of the tables and sideboards dotted around the cavernous rooms, lending a golden tone to the dirty white walls and weathered wood.

To one side of the large four poster bed was a little area cordoned off by a wooden partition, and Lorna glimpsed Becky's blonde head waiting for her behind it.

Carver set her down gently, before clasping her close to kiss her hungrily. Stunned for a moment, Lorna froze before she leaned into the caress, sliding her hands up over his shoulder to pull herself closer.

After a second, Carver raised his head, breathing raggedly from her sweet passion.

"I'll be back in a little while," he reassured her, as he let her go and walked out the room. Blinking owlishly, Lorna watched him go with her jaw dropping, before his words sank in.

"Mistress?" Becky slid out from behind the partition. "Shall I help you with your laces?"

Nervousness beginning to set in, Lorna inhaled shakily and nodded. She allowed her maid to divest her of her stomacher and skirts, untwining the flowers from her hair and undoing the braids. Lastly she unclasped her necklace, laying it on a table one side of the bed. Lastly, Lorna went behind the partition to find a basin of warm water waiting for her. Dismissing Becky, she drew her shift over her head and slipped into the bath, perfumed with a stick of lavender.

For a while Lorna luxuriated in the warm water, a rare luxury in the Doone village, closing her eyes as she relived the events of the day.

She pitied the frightened little girl she'd been only days before. Her own naïveté had blinded her to all she now had. She was blessed with strength and a will only matched by one person, her only equal. Maybe she'd been sent by heaven to tame him, to control his darkness and his destructive power.

She was, of course, thinking of Carver.

Her husband occupied her thoughts, as she wondered how silly she had been. How could she have imagined marrying Carver would cause her grief and pain? Since her earliest memories of him, as a teenage boy, he had protected her and loved her. She was capable of bending his will; she had witnessed that with her own eyes the day before, in the incident with John.

She had known Carver from her earliest days. She knew all the darkest recesses of his mind, his soul and how close he was to falling over the edge of a precipice from which there was no return. She was the only thing standing between him and the abyss; by marrying him she'd taken that position in front of him on the precipice.

Shaking away her thoughts, Lorna stood from her now lukewarm bath and dried herself. She dabbed lavender water on the skin of her neck and wrists, before drawing a soft, crimson coloured robe over her bare skin. Rearranging her hair over her shoulders, she came out from behind the screen and stepped into the husky warmth of the bedchamber.

Outside, storm clouds amassed overhead and the tempest broke, drenching the Doone valley in rain, thunder and lightning. The celebrations abruptly ended, as men, women and children ran to their homes.

The heavens played their own song into the pitch night, thunder and lightning breaking across the horizon. Lorna became entranced by the flashes and crashes of sound and light, as she stood at the window and watched the wild tempest unfold.

Carver found her there a few minutes later, so absorbed by her contemplation of the storm that she did not hear him enter. Smiling, he silently stripped off his tunic and shirt, slinging them over a chair. If Lorna heard the rustle of fabric, she gave no indication of it, but continued to stare out the window at the storm. His torso now bare in the warm air, Carver stalked over to stand behind Lorna.

Lorna jumped when she felt strong arms slide around her waist. Belatedly she registered Carver's presence behind her, as his warm breath tickled her ear.

"I love watching the storm. It's so wild and free," she murmured breathlessly, sliding her hands over the back of his where they clutched her waist. Carver leant his cheek on her soft hair, inhaling the scent of lavender and silk. She shivered, sinking back into his arms.

"I remember when you were eight years old. It was summer and Ensor had sent you to bed early. That night, there was a storm, and when I came to check on you, your bed was empty. I must have rushed around for hours looking for you before I found you fast asleep in the barn, in the loft…" Carver remembered fondly, a reminiscent smile softening his hard face. Lorna laughed once, her voice bell clear.

"I'd slipped out the window of my room," she continued, "I went to the barn because I could see the lightning flashes and the sky better from the loft,"

"You always were a wild little girl," he sighed, his bare chest coming into contact with her back. Lorna shivered and met her husband's eyes over her shoulder.

"I'm not a little girl any more," she whispered, before she boldly brushed his lips with hers. One of her hands slipped from its position on his arm and slid up the well-developed musculature to his face, cupping his cheek as their mouths joined. Slowly Carver turned her, before walking her backwards toward the bed. Lorna felt a post bump into her back, as he held her trapped there, their lips still merged. A newfound urgency infused the kiss, as Lorna explored the strong bands of muscle and rock-hard skin that made up Carver's chest and arms with her hands, the sensitive palms tingling from the hair-dusted skin. Carver groaned into her mouth, a purely masculine sound that sent shivers rushing through Lorna's nerves, negating any maidenly hesitation she might have had. Her husband pressed closer, his thighs trapping her against the edge of the bed and it was her turn to moan and arch slightly in surprise at the hardness she felt pressing against her abdomen.

Ready to burst from the ache burgeoning beneath her skin, Lorna flipped their positions, pushing Carver back into a sitting position on the bed. For a moment, she merely cupped his head between her hands; searching his hungry eyes, before inclining her head to his once more.

Carver pressed her close, his hands firm on her back, so she stood within the V of his still clothed legs. Lorna sighed and allowed the movement, trailing her hands down his neck, sliding them as far as she could reach down his back.

Abruptly, as Carver aggressively attacked her mouth, devouring it; Lorna wrenched from his lips, breathing raggedly. He switched tactics, sliding his lips down her chin until he reached her throat, nuzzling down its long and graceful column. She gasped, her hands gliding into his hair, curving over his skull, holding him to her. His lips consumed what he had coveted for so long, and which now belonged to him forever, as Lorna moaned and swayed slightly in his hold, her muscles turned to jelly. Inhaling deeply, Carver paused in his exploration of her skin, looking up into her wide eyes.

They glittered with desire and curiosity, anticipation and a dizzy passion. She smiled and brushed his lips with hers, calling to him. The scent of her called to the prowling beast within him, as he tried to maintain control but she was testing its weak moorings to their limits. Just the thought of her soft body, at last his to claim, so near him was enough to make him want to seize her and slake his lust.

Once again, he focussed dazedly on her gleaming eyes, so deep and sensuous, alive. He searched them for signs of fear, or hesitation, or uncertainty. He found only acceptance, and an ill-disguised impatience.

Allowing his usual devilish smirk to return, albeit slightly strained, Carver drew her close, his hands loose around her waist. He trapped her eyes in his, as he reached for the tie of her robe.

Lorna sucked in a breath.

"I've waited sixteen years…" he began hoarsely, pulling the tie loose and letting it fall to the ground. The robe gaped open, as Lorna's dewed skin heated anew. Carver, his eyes steady on hers continued, "…for this moment, for you. Now I have you."

Her swollen lips parted, Lorna watched his hungry eyes survey his prize, feeling herself won. Wherever his eyes touched, her skin heated and flushed, tempting him.

Gently, tenderly, knowing he had only limited time before his strained control gave way, Carver leaned forward and placed hot kisses down the line of her throat and collarbone, down to the point between her breasts. Shivering now, her head arched towards the ceiling, waiting breathlessly for his next caress, Lorna found the strength to speak.

"You have my heart. Don't break it," she murmured, almost pleading. He alone now held the power to destroy or to save her now. Their eyes met, and understanding flashed between them, before Carver placed an open-mouthed kiss over the spot where her heart beat thunderously. Accepting her fate, Lorna dropped her hands from his hair and let them fall to her sides, her robe falling to the ground. Fearlessly, she met Carver's surprised gaze before his eyes hungrily devoured her body. She met his eyes, smiling shyly before twining her arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he took her weight and lifted her astride him, so the sensitive skin of her thighs rode against his still clothed legs. She trembled but didn't pause in their kiss, if anything her lips devoured his with renewed passion. Her long hair covered her back like a sable cape, as his hand stroked down its length.

Pressing herself to him, delighting in the feel of his skin scalding hers, Lorna gladly sank against him, unafraid of the possessiveness she could feel building in every touch, every kiss, every caress of their bodies. Carver's hands explored every inch of her body, pressing into the smooth flesh, soft and heated. Feeling his hands where before they had only caressed whilst screened by her woollen skirts and linen stomachers she shivered, her chest rising and falling raggedly.

Beneath her skin, it felt like molten desire was being poured down every vein, making her heart pound and her body ache for his touch. There was a pulsing void deep within her, waiting to be filled.

At the thought, Lorna pressed her lips to his neck, seeing if the pleasure he could press on her was reciprocal. His tense shudder assured her it was, as she laid a trail of kisses down his neck before pressing her hand into the skin of his pectoral. It made no indentation on the already stone-like muscle. Raising her eyes to his, she drowned in the possessive hunger she saw there, as their lips met, frantically joining as one, whilst both craved a deeper joining, of both body and soul.

Feeling that need, that craving intensify at the feel of her soft body sinking to his, Carver held her weight as he stood and turned them. Breaking their kiss, he never broke eye contact as he laid her down on the bed, making sure her head lay on one of the pillows. She tensed slightly as his full weight settled on her, her hands clutching his forearms before she relaxed into the supportive heather stuffed mattress. Watching her, her glorious hair spread over the pillows of their bed, and nubile body ready beneath his, Carver took her lips, tilting her head back against the pillow, deepening the angle of their kiss.

With a content sigh, Lorna sank into his arms, as the warm body above hers, ready to claim her finally did.

Body, heart and soul.

This was where she truly belonged.

* * *

Hours later, whilst outside a summer storm raged and thundered, within the meeting hall of the Doones, Lorna lay sunk in her warm bed, sated and replete; and unable to move. Her eyes opened lazily, as she rolled onto her front, her hand searching for the source of her satiation. Her hand met empty space as she frowned dazedly at the absence of her husband. She stretched carefully, her muscles twingeing in unexpected places. Wincing slightly, the ache in her muscles was soon superseded by heat at her back, as Carver leaned over her, his breath tickling her ear.

"Are you alright?" he asked huskily, concern evident in his voice.

"Yes," she breathed on a whispery sigh, shifting slightly beneath him. A moment later she felt his lips caress the indent of her spine desirously, in the small of her back. "Very."

"It wasn't quite what you expected, was it?" he asked, smirking when he felt her shiver. Lorna shook her head.

"No. I had heard it can be quite painful for a woman, but of course you would know all about that," she murmured, alleging to his extensive experience, both consensual and not so consensual. She felt Carver sigh against her back, before he pulled himself higher and pressed a kiss to her shoulder, his hand pulling her leg outward.

"Let's not dwell on the past tonight, Lorna," he murmured. "Those days are over."

Lorna was unable to reply to those words, as she felt him press into her body for the second time that night. Her breath fractured on a sigh, as she contentedly relaxed under his hand. "Are you alright? It doesn't hurt?" he asked concernedly, his voice a tight growl.

"I'm fine," she replied breathlessly, shifting slightly against him. She was more than fine; she was a step away from heaven.

"No," Carver admonished gently, stilling her movement. Their first lovemaking had been urgent and almost brutally passionate, once they were together. Buried in her body, where he'd dreamed of being for so long, his control had shattered. He had never wished to hurt her, but the need to claim her as his had been too strong to ignore. Not that Lorna seemed to be suffering any ill effects; her body was just as ready as before, but this time he needed her to remain still. He doubted she could survive another lovemaking like the last without suffering for it the next day.

"Lie still and just let me love you," he murmured as she tried to shift back against him again. She sighed but did as he asked of her, pleasure coursing through her as they made love for a second time, her body willing and accepting.

She cried his name when she shattered, her mind and senses sliding over a precipice of pleasure into sated oblivion.

* * *

Lorna slept in the arms of her husband, utterly limp and boneless, exhausted by the events of the night. Carver smiled, feeling an inner peace settle over him that he had never experienced before, drawing her closer against him as he closed his eyes and joined her in sated oblivion.

Together they slept, hearts and bodies entwined, whilst the storm raged itself out.

That night was to be the peace before the storm for them, when they would face trials that would test their love to its limits, and decide the fate of all Doones.


End file.
